


Golden Moon, Silver Sands

by elzierav



Series: The Monsoon Series [1]
Category: RWBY
Genre: Alpha James Ironwood, Alpha/Beta/Omega Dynamics, Anal Sex, Beta Clover Ebi, Blood, Choking, Consensual Sex, Creature Hunting, Future OT3, Hand Jobs, Interspecies Sex, M/M, Mating Bites, Mating Cycles/In Heat, Merpeople, Omega Qrow Branwen, Only Briefly - Freeform, Overstimulation, Pirates, Porn With Plot, Porn with Feelings, Rough Sex, Unconscious Sex, Underwater Sex, Vampire Sex, Vampires, Werewolves, marrow is a good boi, read the tags
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-28
Updated: 2020-11-28
Packaged: 2021-03-09 23:41:19
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 10,451
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27754759
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/elzierav/pseuds/elzierav
Summary: "James expected violence. He expected lethally sharp fangs, stone-hard teeth, icy saliva… instead, he’s met with kindness. With a gentle tongue, reassuring, lulling him like the tide rocks the ship during calm nights when the sky’s clear and you can see all the stars. With pliant, careful lips, demanding but soft as if afraid the human would break at the mere touch... His eyelids flutter shut, but his hand blindly finds the vampire's chest. No heartbeat, but it’s steady, it’s an anchor, it’s a lifeline, and he wishes he could hold on forever."Qrow and Raven as wolf-vampire-merfolk hybrids in a world where such a thing is nearly unheard of, exactly the kind of rare and dangerous mythical creatures pirate captain James Ironwood hunts for sport. Until an encounter on a fateful night takes an unexpected turn.
Relationships: Qrow Branwen/James Ironwood, minor Clover Ebi/James Ironwood
Series: The Monsoon Series [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2030227
Comments: 4
Kudos: 17





	Golden Moon, Silver Sands

**Author's Note:**

  * For [StoryWeaverKirea](https://archiveofourown.org/users/StoryWeaverKirea/gifts).



> Happy birthday Chloe!!!! You are a blessing and an inspiration <3
> 
> Thanks to AndyAstral for helping me with pretty much all of my titles at this point.
> 
> The original prompt was from SykoShadowRose and read: "Qrow and Raven as wolf-vampire hybrids in a world where such a thing is nearly unheard of" and then I decided to also throw merfolk into the mix because of her amazing fic Caught In The Tides, and also because I love merpeople, and who doesn't?  
> Please READ THE TAGS for warnings. This is ABO with violent interspecies (humanoid/merman) smut, turn around if that's not your thing, love y'all, big hugs.

They are only seen in the heart of the storm. Even the fiercest and most grizzled of pirates tremble at the mere mention of their name. 

Some of those rare sailors who survived seeing them say they have the tails of sharks, splitting the powerful waves with ease, slicing through the seafoam as if through parchment. Some say they have no heartbeat, some say their skin is pale as ivory, diaphanous before the stormy sky. Some say they have claws and fangs sharp as swords that glisten under the light of the full moon, tainted with the blood of those they’ve killed. Some say they have fur, others describe scales, others even mention feathers. Some say one has the curves of a beautiful woman and eyes like blood, while the other has the lithe but strong body of a man and irises as red as wine. Most sailors, however, haven’t survived the encounter to tell the tale. 

All that’s known of them is the name those who survived give them, the name that spills out as barely a murmur from quivering lips while their eyes gleam in pure, crazed terror: The Twins.

* * *

Everything tastes salty, like the ocean, like metal, like blood. Clover coughs out seawater as he desperately pushes himself upright, leaning against one of the heavy cannons at his side. But the tempest is relentless, and soon another wave comes crashing onto the ship, knocking him off balance again and causing his boots to slip against the boat’s drenched wooden floor. 

The smell of gunpowder still floats in the putrid air, but everything’s so soaked in seawater it’s hard to tell. Overhead, the deck creaks in protest, icy droplets dripping ceaselessly down. Drip, drip, drip, eerily punctuating the silence as thunder grumbles in the distance before the next wave rushes in to rock them. 

A drop clatters against Clover’s boot, staining it dark crimson. 

He swipes two fingers against the substance, raising them to his nostrils. But everything smells too much like salt, and it doesn’t make any sense. How could the enemy already have harmed the crew up on the deck without facing resistance? Without any cries, frantic footsteps, clashing blades, or fired pistols?

Clover’s heard of the siren’s song, capable of subduing even the most seasoned sailors, but merfolk can’t tread over the deck and attack the pirates there. What kind of creature is attacking them, reaching the deck and wounding its occupants without any sound of fighting back? What kind of abomination are they facing here, in the middle of the unfurled ocean? Does the ship and crew even stand a chance?

The Iron Judgement is a proud vessel, stolen from the Atlesian flotilla by infamous pirate Captain James Ironwood and his fearsome crew, but even the finest of ships may not survive through this.

Following his Captain’s gaze, Clover peers through the gunport onto the sea outside. A shimmer of scales that could have been mistaken for glistening seafoam under the full moon - and then, nothing, nothing but the raging ocean. 

“Ready to fire!” Ironwood bellows over the wind’s howls in the background, his wooden leg clicking against the soggy planks as he walks behind one of the cannons to light it himself. 

“Captain?” Clover calls out, prompting the Captain to turn over to face his first mate. “I’m not sure that’d help. The enemy... may already be aboard.”

He raises his bloodstained fingers as evidence towards his superior, shivering slightly as the alpha seizes his hand to inspect the reddened digits.

“I saw something, Cloves. I’m sure of it. It must be the monster attacking my ship and my crew, and with our fire power we can take it down.”

Ironwood’s fingers tighten nearly imperceptibly around his second in command’s hand, perhaps as a sign of reassurance. That smile curls up at the corner of his mouth, that familiar smile that makes Clover’s heart flutter ever so slightly. 

That smile that means James is on the hunt, that means he’s found his prey, his newest nemesis, and knows they can face it and shoot it down, add its tail to his grand collection of hunting trophies between the fangs of the frightening killer whales from the north and the fins of exotic golden sirens from the southern seas, sell its bones and scales to the nearest market at prices higher than that of gold… 

Clover should trust James on this. The Captain knows best. Clover shouldn’t doubt the alpha. The Captain knows best. 

“But… permission to check what’s going on above us on the main deck?” the first mate asks, a slight tremor in his tone.

The alpha’s grin contorts into a rictus as his reply comes out as a snarl, evening blue eyes blazing with determination.

“No one goes on the main deck.  _ No one. _ We can’t afford to lose any more lives that way. We’ll kill this monster, we’ll survive this storm, and then we’ll check the main deck. Bree, Zeki, Ederne, make sure no one can get from the main deck to down here.”

From the other end of the gun deck, a chorus of aye’s echoes followed by the metallic sounds of loaded guns and drawn cutlasses. 

“Captain… there must be another way. What if we’re not even firing at the right enemy? Couldn’t we use the nets or the harpoons to subdue the target?”

“Cloves. My duty is to steer this ship safely into port while salvaging as much of the crew as I can. And I will give whatever it takes to succeed. I can’t afford to take risks like that.”

“Aye, sir.”

Clover looks down, biting his lip not to whimper at the loss of contact with his Captain’s hand as he races back to his cannon, preparing himself to fire. His hands are wet, the gunpowder is wet, everything’s wet and it’s hard to spark anything ablaze. The other crew members struggle just as hard, swearing under their breath as they attempt to light the guns - before thunder booms overhead, followed by the deafening sound of cracking wood and the cursing of one familiar voice...

“Marrow!” Clover shrieks, nearly dropping his cannon. “The bird’s nest must’ve been compromised. But he’s still talking, so he’s alive. I need to go on the main deck.”

“Absolutely not,” James growls. 

“Just me, alone. I’ll put wax in my ears against the siren song.”

“I can’t risk losing you!”

James’s nostrils are flaring now, and Clover’s aware it must be the pheromones from his sympathetic beta metabolism in the proximity of an alpha, triggering his Captain’s urge to protect him, protect him at all costs, protect him whatever it takes...

“Captain. Please.”

James can sense the pheromones. He has always sensed them. He has always known about his first mate not being just your average beta. He has even been stranded on a desert island with Clover going into heat. And yet, he has never made a move, never said a word, nothing that could ever compromise his right hand man’s status and reputation or worse yet, get him pregnant amidst a ship thousands of miles away from the mainland. Clover can trust him with everything. Clover can trust him with his life. 

But sometimes, his life is not enough. 

Sometimes, his life isn’t what matters. 

“James. Trust me.”

And taking the alpha’s hand again, he deposits a swift kiss onto the calloused digits, leaving the alpha startled as Clover heads up the stairs leading to the main deck. 

James has sensed the pheromones, yet has never made a move. Even now. Even to stop the beta from stepping onto the bridge and into the storm, with nothing but a harpoon in his hand and candle wax in his ears. 

The Captain murmurs something in his beard, something like ‘good luck’, but Clover can’t hear it. The wind whistles through the ropes and masts, whipping the sails, whipping his bare, sleeveless arms, but he can’t hear it. Even the thundering storm is just a whisper to his eardrums, a breath falling onto the nape of his neck and causing a shiver to race all the way down his spine as each of his hairs stands on end in the too humid air. 

Marrow is whimpering something he can’t hear - a portion of broken mast and tangled rope fell onto the young omega, but Clover’s strong arms do quick work of that load. Tossing the mess aside, he quickly inspects the boy. Scratched, shocked, but not injured. Marrow has done a good job of closing down the sails before his perch was knocked down, likely by lightning. Being in the bird’s nest must’ve kept him out of range from the siren’s cries, Clover thinks, murmuring to himself over the too loud background of his quickening respiration, of his thundering heartbeat. 

The omega’s mouth is moving, frantically shouting something that can’t reach Clover’s brain.

Flickers of panic dance in the younger man’s blue eyes - and then, the calm after the storm. Following his suddenly fixed glare, Clover progressively turns around. 

Only to find blood red eyes burning through his head, boring into his soul. Overhead, the full moon radiates, illuminating the faint glistening of thick black fur covering the creature’s humongous body, dark hide stained with red. Red that also tints its deadly fangs as its jaw hangs ajar, dripping with the remains of their fallen crewmembers. Drip. Drip. Drip.

He’s heard of werewolves. He’s heard of those creatures who herd in deep forests at full moon, raid small villages and feed off human flesh. He’s just never expected to find one on the bridge of a pirate ship.

At his eardrums, the first mate’s heart is pounding at a maddening pace, threatening to break free of his ribcage. He has to do something. He has to do something. He has to… he grabs a fistful of Marrow’s shirt to toss the transfixed omega out of harm’s way. The sharp end of the broken mast on the ground catches his attention. And lifting the object with both arms, he charges toward the monster. 

There is the sickening sound of splintering wood. The monster’s jaw close around the mast, snapping it like a mere twig and leaving the useless fragments to crumble within the beta’s hands. A dangerous glint sparks in the beast’s irises - then it springs into a standing position, front paws outstretched as it howls toward the moon. 

And then, a glimmer of sharp claws. A splash of red. An impact that pushes Clover aside, tumbling onto the soaked wooden deck. 

The canine’s powerful paw swiped in Clover’s direction, with enough strength to throw him overboard. The canine’s paw swiped - but it didn’t hit him. 

Instead, for a fraction of a second Clover catches the fearful gaze of cobalt eyes. Eyes of the Captain who just shoved his first mate aside and saved his life. Eyes of the Captain who just sacrificed himself for him without the shadow of a hesitation. Eyes of the Captain, his Captain, whom Clover can only watch being tossed away like he weighs nothing at all, as the monster’s blow propels James off the deck and into the unleashed waves below.

* * *

The ocean is vicious, icy, the saltwater lacing at his throbbing wound where the monster clawed at him. But James doesn’t give up, won’t give up, will never give up. Vigorously as if he weren’t injured, he swims up to the surface, gasping for air before more violent waves can submerge him again. His slippery, already freezing fingers draw his flintlock pistol from his belt - if he can fire a shot, the crew on the gun deck may hear him and be able to rescue him. 

And then - a fleeting shimmer of scales, iridescent grey against the grey waves. Dangerous, swift enough for a single blow of that tail to be lethal to humans. Dangerous, yet beautiful, fascinating, eliciting that same curiosity that draws James to the creatures he hunts, carrying that same exoticism that keeps him hooked enough so he’ll relentlessly pursue them for days, weeks, months. Dangerous, yet perhaps even more beautiful than anything he’s seen before, dappled in silvery steel, bronze red, bony white, perhaps even more beautiful  _ because  _ of the danger. 

The Twins are infamous for hunting together, and if one of them is aboard attacking Ironwood’s crew, now is the perfect time for him to strike down the second Twin and exact his revenge for his killed subordinates.

The creature is right there, ready to strike at him at any second, and he has nothing in hand but a cocked pistol. 

The alpha likes to stare at his prey straight in the eyes before shooting. He likes to see the enemy, be the enemy before he can kill the enemy. He likes to see that primal fear within the creature’s irises, the fear that spells imminent death, the fear that’s universal across species, its reeking scent as sweet as music to his nostrils. As he aims his gun, furiously attempting to keep his head above the water, he tries to catch a glimpse of those frightened eyes he’s been longing to see.

And for a second, he manages. 

They’re red, like the legend says, but they have this softness to them, this softness James has only seen in the clouds before the horizon line when the sky meets the sea at sunset. 

And for a second, he has a clear shot. 

The Captain has a clear shot, a target above the water, right between those infamous eyes, while the wind isn’t even blowing, as if waiting in the calm between two storms.

For a second, he doesn’t shoot.

Where is that pure fear, that frantic panic that overtakes his prey seconds before death? Why isn’t this creature reeking of putrid terror, its pheromones seeping into the sea water? Why is there a part of its soul that refuses to be broken?

James never gets an answer, not in the calm between the storms. Because the next wave that comes crashing his way violently throws him toward the ship, and the searing pain behind his head and all the way down his back only lasts for a brief instant as he still struggles for air, for air down his burning lungs, his burning throat, before everything goes cold. 

Cold, wet, and dark. 

* * *

The sun is about to rise. 

The sun is about to rise, and the sea is finally calm, the first rays of sunlight streaking the clouds with saturated colour, warming the sand where the waves come to die and the still overly humid air. The storm is over. The small, round island amidst the ocean appears mostly desert, the lush green forest at its centre surrounded by expanses of soft white sand. From atop the tall trees, flocks of birds take flight again, safely soaring to the now windless skies. The tides gently caress the beaches, quiet and regular as a heartbeat, only leaving behind a lace-like ribbon of silvery seafoam. 

Everything is safe now. The beach is a safe haven. 

The merman emerges out of the water first. His pale, thin but toned arms pull his weight upright in the sand as the tide pushes him ashore. His back arches into a graceful curve as his shark-like tail curls up behind his head, silvery fin tips glistening in the faint morning light. He shakes his head, water droplets dripping off his mess of ashen hair and dripping onto his alabaster skin. He brushes back his bangs with one hand before the droplets can tumble into his eyes, while his other arm drags a heavy weight through the wet sand. 

As the merman sits on the shore, the human’s body by his side remains unresponsive. The human’s coat is ripped and stained with crimson where the werewolf slashed him, but otherwise he appears uninjured. The merman tentatively cracks one of the human’s eyelids open, peering curiously at the unique, deep blue iris shade he’s never seen before. But the man’s glare remains glassy and unmoving, confirming he’s still deeply unconscious, so the merman’s fingers travel down to the side of his neck, checking a pulse and wincing slightly. Quickly, he undoes the belts keeping the coat together, briefly laying an ear onto the man’s muscular chest to detect any signs of respiration. 

The sun is about to rise. 

The mer steals nervous glances in the sunrise’s direction, but promptly returns to his task of tilting the man to one side and tapping his back to drain the water that must be filling the human’s respiratory system. Bending over elastically onto the drowned man’s body, he presses their lips together and forcefully breathes oxygen into the human’s mouth, down his throat, into his lungs. He repeats the action, twice, thrice. Seconds turn to minutes. Too long minutes. Too long moments before the human exhibits any reaction, any smallest sign of revival. 

Soon, he doesn’t even know how long he’s been sitting there, trying to breathe life back into a dead body. He only knows that soon, the sun will rise. 

Eventually, the merman senses the body under him spasming awake, the wet lips against his stiffening suddenly before the man jolts into a sitting position, coughing out a profuse amount of seawater. Blue eyes blinking confusedly open immediately scan their surroundings, losing no time in recognising the human’s saviour. 

“Why.. did you...” he tries to utter raspily, water still dripping down his bottom lip. 

The merman doesn’t respond, but blinks as if in understanding. And swiftly, leans over to brush away the rivulets of water from the man’s mouth with his thumb. The human inhales sharply, as if about to speak again, but before he can formulate a new question, the mer already swims away, only the tip of his dorsal and tail fins visible above the surface of the waves. 

And then, the sun rises. 

* * *

They understand each other, but they don’t talk much. 

They need to talk, because they already understand each other. 

At dusk, the merman returns from the sea with fish, shellfish, crayfish, crabs, and other crustaceans. James collects some dry branches from the forest and lights a fire on the beach. Grilled seafood isn’t a bad dinner for a pirate. The merman doesn’t touch the cooked food though. Sometimes he grabs one of the sea creatures still raw and flailing, bites straight into it with his razor-sharp canines, and drains it until it’s dried of all its blood. The human also notices his saviour tends to stay away from the fire - it’s a shame, really, because those vermillion eyes look absolutely breathtaking when the blazing sparks reflect off them. 

When the sand’s too wet, the Captain has to light the fire away from the shoreline, but that won’t deter the merman whose scales merely flake off and flutter away at once like so many silvery petals in the wind. The translucent gills on his abdomen and scaly grey shading of his lower body would recede to give way to more pale expanses of human-like skin. The two fins below his abdomen would turn into sharp, shapely hip bones. The long, powerful tail, almost as long as James’s body, and its angular silver-tipped fins would give way to slim, lengthy human legs, their diaphanous tint highlighted by the gentle moonlight. The shapeshifter has some human clothes concealed under a rock for when it uses its legged form - a simple grey blouse and some sturdy black pants. 

All the same, the humanoid creature shies away from the flames and only drinks blood. 

James has seen many a mer creature in his life, as well as many a vampire. He’s seen many of either with his own eyes, killed many of either with his own hands throughout his long career in the navy, and then later on as a pirate Captain. As it turns out, that’s why he left the military - to be able to hunt down the prized creatures he desired at leisure, confident that selling their parts would be more and enough to provide for himself and his crew. 

He’s seen many a vampire, many a mer creature, but hardly has he witnessed anything as fascinating as this hybrid. His human form appears similar to that of regular land vampires, and his upper body in his merman form wasn’t too dissimilar, save for the webbing between his fingers, the faintly iridescent gills on either side of his torso, and the scaly patterns up his arms. James sometimes wonders if the scales went up onto his neck, onto his face, which could explain the way those sculptural cheekbones shine under the starlight. James sometimes wonders that, yet he never dares touch to verify. 

He can also tell, from the large size of the shark form, that this specimen is an omega capable of breeding. The scent does give it away, but it’s hard to tell with the heady scent of the ocean clinging to the creature’s skin. If James leans in too close, he can detect more of the omega pheromones - but also more unknown, exotic, nearly hypnotic odours of deep sea algae and abyssal creatures the hybrid must feed off of, and that’s almost as thrilling to the alpha’s senses.

He expects that this Twin has a werewolf form too, just like the one who attacked him on the ship. But he knows he won’t observe it until the next full moon comes. The creature’s body is faintly crisscrossed with ragged scars, testimony of all he’s faced and survived, but nothing like a werewolf bite mark, which suggests to Ironwood that his saviour was born a werewolf-mer hybrid rather than turned. 

There is the small scar of vampire fangs at the side of its neck though, leaving the Captain to wonder what deranged vampire would willingly transform such a hybrid, just to see how strange and ungodly the result would turn out. 

The hybrid told him his name was Qrow, and not much else. Qrow is many things - merfolk, canine, vampiric, but none of these are bird-like. Yet, James has to admit that the name is strangely fitting.

They don’t talk much, because at times the alpha is too entranced by the sight of that feathery, silver-streaked black hair, by the temptation of running his fingers through the unkempt, still humid strands. And at other times, James is too busy drowning in the warmth of those beautiful red eyes. 

They don’t need to talk much, because they understand each other. 

After all, James is used to staring at the enemy in the eye, used to being the enemy, being its every glare, every glance, every move to predict its next action and better take it down. 

So the grizzled hunter, the slayer of sea monsters, understands what those red eyes mean when they stare back intently. They don’t convey the fear of a hunted creature, neither do they communicate the greed of a hunter. Instead, they understand him back. They seek mutual understanding, partnership, symbiosis. 

Qrow saved Ironwood from drowning and brings him food each night. In exchange, he expects to be fed back. 

Now that he understands this enemy, how could he still desire to take down this enemy? Now that he became this enemy, how could he not allow himself to not only the hunter, but also become the hunted?

It’s part of the little ritual they have, the little ritual that needs next to no words now. After James is done eating, Qrow takes his wrist and bites just at the main artery, quickly and quietly drinking his share. It’s not enough to leave the alpha weakened, even though he does remain quite dizzy after the fact. But that might be the effect of suddenly warm lips gracing his skin, of unusually flushed cheeks upon the bashful face before his eyes. All the same, the combination of anesthetic vampire saliva and healing mer drool makes sure the wound vanishes painlessly after mere seconds. 

It doesn’t even hurt. Although maybe James wishes it did, so it would distract him from the throbbing pain of the clawing wound at his side. 

But already after sucking the Captain’s blood, Qrow must leave. Always by sea, always in his merman form, always just before sunrise. 

It’s part of the little ritual they have, and that part might hurt the most. 

* * *

Clover cannot believe his luck to even be still alive after facing the monster.

He can barely remember what happened, he can barely remember how they survived. He barely remembers a flash of silver. A flash of red. A moonbeam shining upon bloodied fangs as the creature threw its head back in an agonising howl. A splash of seafoam, the dark sea whirling below, the dark clouds storming above. 

Marrow had been terrified, but alive. Covered in blood that was not his, but alive. Clutching his silver rosary within his trembling fingers, also drenched in red after a desperate attempt to strangle the werewolf with it, but alive. And that’s what matters. That’s all that matters. 

The young omega’s a good boy, Clover realises, knowing full well he owes Marrow his life.

They return the dead to the sea, and the living keep moving on. The remaining crew is barely enough to keep the ship sailing, but they need to keep moving on. Acting Captain Ebi orders it. They need to retrieve Captain Ironwood. They will stop at nothing until they find him. They will overturn seas, raise storms, move mountains if they must, until they find him. 

At least, they may have identified a weakness those monsters have. There is no way to know whether holy or silver objects hurt them, so Clover orders that each crewmember should have both on their person at all times. With a heavy heart, he detaches his namesake silver brooch on the lapel of his overcoat and hands it over to Mr. Zeki, the Iron Judgement’s surgeon and cook. The missing weight against his heart is unusual. James had given him that pin. 

But what matters is that Clover still has a silver item. He still has his medallion around his neck, enclosing a lock of his niece’s crimson hair. Pyrrha is his closest living relative, and rumours whisper she has bloomed into a comely young woman. The locket used to smell like her, now it smells like the sea, like salt, like sweat. It’s been too long since he’s seen her. It’s been too long since the ship’s anchor dropped in an Atlesian harbour, Argus or any other. Clover’s hair smells like salt, salt and filth, and the rest of the crew is no better. 

Still, the beta stands tall at the rudder, teal eyes scrutinising the sea by day and the stars by night, determined to find the pirate captain wherever he disappeared to. Determined to find the alpha,  _ his  _ alpha, whatever it takes. James is strong, he knows. James will be able to hold on and stay alive until the Iron Judgement finds him, he knows. And then, James will be proud of his first mate, of his sympathetic beta, he knows.

Or at least, that’s what Clover keeps telling himself like a prayer, keeps telling himself until it becomes true.

***

“You won’t survive until the next full moon,” Qrow says. 

The sand beneath their feet is drenched as they sit on a fallen log, staring at the unruly sea, at the grumbling gray clouds.

“I know,” James replies, clutching his wound that’s turned an angry colour after days. 

He’d hoped the smoke of his fire would have attracted ships to save him, that maybe even Clover could have come to his aid with the rest of the crew aboard the Iron Judgement. Now all he can hope was that Clover even survived the encounter with the other Twin…

“Your wound is infected, and the infection is spreading, I can taste it in your blood.”

“Why tell me? I can’t get help for it now.”

“Because I can help you.”

“But?”

James can sense the hesitation in Qrow’s voice, the promise of a coming storm despite the current calm. 

“I can suck off all the infected blood, but then for you to survive the blood loss, I would need to give you enough of my blood to transform you.”

“Into a vampire?”

“Aye. The full moon is too far away to turn you into a werewolf.”

“But?”

Qrow takes a deep breath. It’s probably unnecessary, since vampires can hold their breath for much longer than humans, perhaps even a dozen minutes. 

“When I turn you, the blood lust will be so strong that you won’t be able to control yourself. And there’s a village on the other side of the island. Not quite a village, but a small settlement, mostly of humans. You wouldn’t be able to make it there in your current state, but as a vampire it’d take you mere minutes... I have family there.”

“Tell me about your family.”

“There’s my twin sister. You’ve met her, unfortunately. And her husband, and his wife. They’re… both human. And they have two daughters too. The oldest just turned five.”

“Do they look like you?”

“Not really. The eldest has golden hair like her father, though it’s as thick and messy as my sister’s. The youngest has inherited the silver eyes and dark hair of her mother.”

“You must care for them a great deal.”

“Yeah.”

The silence that follows isn’t really silent. Instead, the tide whispers against the sand, and the shrill cries of seagulls echo in the distance. 

“Then I cannot accept your offer.”

James expects fury, offense, a violent reaction to his statement from such a formidable creature. Instead, the rage he perceived is bottled up, only transpiring through crimson eyes on the verge of tears, tears clinging to long, lush black eyelashes.

“What? Have you lost your mind, Jimmy? You’ll die!”

“It’s a small price to pay compared to the safety of a whole village and your family, I accepted this risk when I became a pirate and hunter of sea monsters. You have a family you care for, that should come first.”

“But I care about you!”

James can’t believe it, he’s been alone at sea for far too long, he hasn’t heard those words for far too long. Of course, there’d been Clover, his only real romantic interest, but getting the first mate knocked up at sea and humiliated upon the crew finding he wasn’t just any kind of beta wouldn’t have been what was best for Clover. And the alpha cared for Clover too much. 

“Why? I hunt down creatures like you for a living and for a passion.”

“You could have killed me, but you didn’t.”

“And that’s part of why you care?”

“Is that why you don’t want me to save you now? Because you don’t want to become a heartless monster like me?”

Tears well out from Qrow’s eyes, but already James’s feverish fingers move in to wipe them, calloused digits touching the hybrid’s cheek with gentleness.

“If I knew you were a monster, I would have killed you. Instead, I let you live, and in exchange for that you saved me once, brought me food, kept me company, and are offering to save my life again. That is hardly monstrous behaviour.”

“So why don’t you trust me to save you? Because you don’t believe I care? Because you don’t believe I can hold you back when you inevitably go on your bloody rampage? I would risk my life to hold you back if you just trusted me!”

“But why?”

James has always admired how perfectly still Qrow can stay, with his rare respiration and absence of a heartbeat. But now, even the vampire’s hands are quivering with… with something James can’t quite place, but can sense. If Qrow’s knuckles could have paled, they would have.

“Because no one has looked at me the way you have. Because I’m a hybrid, merfolk, vampires, and weres alike see me as incomplete, as less than. And humans are too terrified of me to even dare approach me. You’re the only one who can see me as...”

“As whole? As unique? As strong, kind, and generous, perhaps even to a fault?”

“... Am I selfish for thinking that?”

Another silence. The winds may be howling, the waves may be storming, but it’s all silent in their minds.

“No, you’re not. You care for others more deeply than any human, sea or land creature I have ever met.”

“Then let me show you how much I care.”

For a second, Qrow closes his eyes. For a second, James doesn’t understand.

Then, moving with superhuman speed before the alpha can react, the hybrid leans in to kiss him. 

James expected violence. He expected lethally sharp fangs, stone-hard teeth, icy saliva… instead, he’s met with kindness. With a gentle tongue, reassuring, lulling him like the tide rocks the ship during calm nights when the sky’s clear and you can see all the stars. With pliant, careful lips, demanding but soft as if afraid the human would break at the mere touch. James’s heartbeat is too fast now, each pulsation sending pain shooting through his wounded side. His eyelids flutter shut, but his hand blindly finds the omega’s chest. No heartbeat, but it’s steady, it’s an anchor, it’s a lifeline, and he wishes he could hold on forever. 

“Do you trust me?” Qrow pulls back to utter, their noses still brushing against each other. 

James inhales - but he doesn’t know what to say, it’s all going too fast for him to decide. He’s dying, and yet he doesn’t want Qrow to stop, and in a maelstrom of uncertainty that’s all he knows, all he’s sure of. 

Fresh, teasing lips move past the corner of his lips to kiss tenderly down his neck, following the line of bulging veins. Cold, lengthy fingers map his jawline through his beard, eliciting the gentlest of sighs. The slightest tip of sharp fangs tingle the smooth skin, but don’t leave a mark, instead travelling further down until a cold tongue can swipe across the arch of a collarbone. 

“Please, don’t stop,” the alpha begs, and he’s sure he can sense Qrow smirk against his skin at that. 

Pulling apart the human’s shirt, the omega peppers the skin with further kisses, licking James’s wound as softly as he can to alleviate the pain. The Captain shudders at that, burying his hands into Qrow’s hair and tugging desperately. Tugging won’t do much to a creature with the strength of a vampire, but the hybrid’s locks are as soft as he imagined and even more alluring when tousled by his fingers. 

Following the omega’s gaze, James efficiently undoes the elaborate pirate emblem shaped buckle, leaving the vampire whining at the sight of his hard member even through his undergarment. Bobbing his head lovingly, Qrow licks the stiff length through the thin fabric. Agonisingly slowly, forcing the alpha to bite his tongue not to scream, until cold hands easily discard the now useless piece of clothing to free the Captain’s erection.

“You probably trust me more about turning you than about blowing you,” Qrow deadpans, deadly fangs glimmering faintly. 

“At this point, I trust you with everything, Qrow.”

Even as the alpha speaks, the hybrid takes him in hand and starts pumping tentatively, kneading his balls with utter tenderness. 

“Really?”

A playful tongue draws a deft circle at the weeping tip, but Qrow’s eyes never leave James’s, expecting a reply, wanting a reply, needing one. It’s all too fast, and yet not fast enough, as frozen seconds elapse - but eventually, the Captain nods. 

“Yes, really.”

“In this case, it should hurt less if I distract you,” chill digits give a taunting squeeze onto his throbbing knot, obtaining a needy moan in response. “But also, prepare yourself for your last hand job as a human. I hope you enjoy it.”

“I’m sure I leave my life and manhood in very capable hands,” James quips back. 

Qrow reaches up to press another quick peck to Ironwood’s lips - how is he even so flexible? - before setting his mouth onto the wound just below his thorax, producing the soft yet obscene sound of slow suction. 

The numbing effect of vampire saliva acts quickly, spreading from James’s abdomen up his chest, down his crotch… Even the sensation of Qrow’s hands against his erection slowly vanishes, and it was too much, and now it’s not enough. He adds his own iron grip to the pumping motion, while keeping another hand buried in the vampire’s hair. Soon, even the feathery texture of messy strands, the coldness of inhuman scalp fades out of existence. He’s lost too much blood, infected blood that the hybrid spits out disgustedly onto the humid sand for the waves to wash away. Even his grasp is losing strength, Qrow’s hair slipping away between his fingertips like seawater, slipping away before he can close his fists…

But somewhere, too far in the distance, Qrow’s hands are pumping faster, and suddenly it’s too fast again, and he can feel himself fucking senselessly into the omega’s fists, nearing his climax, wondering how long it’s even been since anyone touched him like that, since anyone touched him at all. 

“Qrow...”

“Do you want the transformation to occur?”

A weak, infinitesimal nod.

“Then I’ll give you my blood to drink, take as much as you can, do you understand?”

Another nod.

Taking one hand off of James’s cock, at the alpha’s whimpering disappointment, Qrow takes a small bite at his own wrist, liberating a rivulet of red liquid that he presses to James’s lips. 

He expected the hybrid’s blood to taste salty. Like his own blood, like metal, like seawater. And in a way, it does. 

But the burn it elicits is immediate. His tongue stings like poison, his throat’s parched, his nostrils dilated, his pupils open to the utmost point. It’s too hot, it’s too cold, it’s too slow because everything’s too slow except the tantalising sensation that propagates down every artery, every vein, every smallest nerve of his body at the speed of lightning. Everything is electric, the air’s electric, and he’s barely even aware of his orgasm into Qrow’s hand because everything is painful, the world is too painful, the pain is his world now. 

But he clings onto life, and keeps drinking. 

Time passes. Seconds? Centuries? He can’t tell. Everything’s too dark. 

Then, his eyes blink open, and the world feels shifted, whole, different. 

Every pore of his body feels dilated like never before. He can sense schools of fish swimming by the shore, the way their floundering bodies would feel beneath his fangs, and he craves it. He can sense the heartbeat of each bird, each creature slumbering in the forest, the warm blood running through their bodies, and he craves it. He can sense the village, every living soul there, every fresh, plump, replete heart and the delectable fluid it pumps, and he craves it. 

“James?” Qrow calls out - and his grip on the alpha’s arm is strong, but nowhere near as powerful as he feels now, in his brand new form, in his brand new body.

He can sense the omega’s pheromones more clearly than ever before now, he can sense Qrow’s scent spiking in response to his own. He can sense his own hair standing on end, a lustful shiver running down his spine, he can sense the ebbing and flowing of hormonal tides through his body as the transformation triggered the return of his rut, the sensations amplified thousandfold by his brand new vampiric body. 

He can sense it all, and Qrow knows it too. 

They both know it, they both know what’s going on, when their lips clash again with utmost violence, devoid of any of the earlier carefulness, all fangs bared, all pupils dilated. They both know what’s at stake, as Qrow’s tongue capitulates in a battle he knows he can’t win, a choked moan escaping his throat. They both know each second Qrow distracts James here is one more second of reprieve for the village, that every instant the newborn vampire gives in to his hormonal impulse is one more instant he can release his brutal energy without harming helpless humans. 

The kiss is violent, devouring, all-consuming. The kiss is everything, yet it’s not enough, nothing’s enough, nothing can be enough. The wetness accumulating in Qrow’s briefs in response to James’s rut pheromones is caressing the Captain’s sensitive nostrils, causing his erection to twitch, suddenly hard again, suddenly harder than it’s ever been. 

His hands tear through the hybrid’s clothes as if through dried parchment, and a single swipe of his hand throws the omega onto the sand face first. In his haste, he barely revels in how easy it is, how easy it all is, how his cock slips into Qrow’s hole with ease amidst the dripping slick. 

Spitting out a mouthful of sand, the hybrid lets out a guttural moan, his spine spasming and arching back. But the alpha presses on, pounding Qrow again and again with speed and power he’s never possessed before. It’s exhilarating, pleasure coursing down each of his nerves, his knot pulsating with pure pleasure, and he wants more, always more, he wants to know where the limit is. 

James isn’t the prey anymore, he’s the predator, and he’s the monster he used to hunt, and he wants to know what he’s capable of. His fangs draw blood when he peppers small bits down the pale expanses of Qrow’s fast-healing skin, and suddenly the omega’s blood is the sweetest elixir he’s ever tasted, and he needs more, always more. 

Instinctively, Qrow’s hands and feet curl up at each powerful thrust rattling through his bones, through his body, shaking him to the core. Long, thin fingers uselessly grasp clumps of wet sand, but that can’t anchor him, that can’t help him resist the unfurled brutality of a newly turned vampire’s strength. Soon, a large hand presses against his lithe stomach, keeping him in place, keeping him from going anywhere. 

The alpha’s hum of approval ghosts down the nape of his neck when he rams into Qrow all the way to the knot, sensing the mound formed by the tip of hard length onto the hybrid’s abdomen against his palm. And James thrusts in again and again, each time faster than the last, until he hits the bundle of nerves that makes Qrow see stars, white dancing before his vision like fleeting seafoam on the shore. 

But at least, within the Captain’s grasp keeping him anchored, Qrow can ride back into the alpha’s cock, slender hips desperately responding to the relentless force fucking him as if lives depended on it, because lives depend on it. On the hybrid keeping James distracted, keeping James buried inside him, obsessed and enthralled by the omega. And Qrow can do this. 

One more thrust, one more second, one more heartbeat - that’s one more instant of safety for the village, for his family, for everyone else. He can take it. The pain, the pleasure, the everything, ineluctable, overbearing. He can take it, he can take it all, his splintering mind repeats like a hopeless mantra as his orgasm crests as inevitably as the crash of a tidal wave, a broken wail spilling from his bloodied lips.

James snarls at the burning sensation of Qrow’s come splattering against his hand, seeping into the sand under them. Each of the hybrid’s moans, each groan he utters is the most delectable sound his over-sensitive vampiric eardrums have ever heard. Abruptly dragging the omega by the neck onto his hands and knees to better mount him because he hasn’t had enough, because he’ll never have enough, the Captain relishes in the soft, strangled gasps that pour out of Qrow’s constricted air pipes. 

How delicious it would be, to tighten his fingers around the omega’s neck, drawing out the most delicate of choked sounds as James continues to to fuck him senseless. Strong digits immediately increase their pressure, leaving marks of white against the omega’s nape, flushed from Qrow’s recent feeding. 

Gasping for air, the hybrid can only utter a weakened whimper, feebly bucking his hips to impale himself deeper onto the Captain’s hard member. It takes long to choke a vampire, it takes long for consciousness to slowly drain out of his body as his lungs turn ablaze, his throat parched, his mouth dry and sandy - though Qrow wishes blissful oblivion could claim him, end the suffering, end the pain, end the overstimulation sparking fireworks down each fiber, each nerve of his body. 

But he must fight to stay awake, fight to make sure the vampire alpha ravages his body rather than the village. Fight with every last fragment, every last shard of his shattering self as a second climax is ripped out of his body, turning his arms and legs utterly boneless as he tumbles into the sand, salty tears rolling down his cheeks under the tender moonlight.

Vermillion eyes flutter frantically, beautifully as the omega desperately clings to consciousness, tears staining the soft white sand. But James can sense Qrow weakening beneath him, hips quaking, legs trembling as they struggle to support even his meagre weight. What remnants of strength, undamaged, unbroken, keeps the embers burning in his crimson irises even as the Captain’s still rock hard cock tears a third orgasm from his sputtering body, James cannot comprehend. 

It is hopeless, it is ruined, it is prodigious - and yet it isn’t enough, it can’t be enough to distract the alpha from the murderous desires clouding his mind, storming in his body. His nostrils flare in frustration, in thirst, in hunger for more.

James is the rock before the storm, steady, relentless, taking and taking and taking, but that’s more than Qrow can give, his whole body clenching in tension down to the tip of his toes, curled up so hard it hurts. That cannot be enough. James wants, needs, craves something more - or at least, something different.

Withdrawing his painfully hard length from the omega’s hole with an obscene wet pop, James a fistful of the hybrid’s feathery hair, dragging him toward the shoreline where the waves crash in a thunderous cacophony, but even the thunderous cacophony is silence in the alpha’s determined mind, focusing solely on Qrow, resolved to focus solely on Qrow and not on the thirst for human blood pulsing through his throat. 

But this won’t work, this won’t be fast enough to soothe James’s pulsions, the hybrid’s legs barely strong enough to walk. So the alpha carries him as if he weighs nothing, hurling both of them into the turbulent waves. A series of moans escape Qrow’s lips as the Captain’s hands close around his neck again, the alabaster skin already battered and bruised despite his inhuman healing factor. Long, pearly legs struggle uselessly, reflexively as James submerges the hybrid underwater, turning his gasps into a myriad of silent bubbles. 

Long, agonisingly long seconds elapse before survival instincts take over Qrow’s incoherent mind, fighting to breathe underwater against the overwhelming force strangling him. Then, the tide washes them under, and silence takes over, silence is like a storm crashing down. Underwater, James can see Qrow gasping as gills appear along his sides, letting him breathe despite the continuous choking, he can see the merman’s tail forming and thrashing to break free, eliciting silent vortices of water and sand around them. 

Underwater, he can taste blood, precome, and the omega’s sweet, sweet pheromones seeping through the salty sea, and that only eggs on the Captain’s rut-driven lust. It’s brutal, yet silent when he slams his erection deep into the omega’s slit just under his throbbing dicks, searching the warmth buried inside him, only James’s knot keeping their bodies joined as they drift among the cold sea currents. 

Qrow screams, but each cry is muffled through the water, and all that reaches James’s eardrums is thundering quietness. There is a weightlessness underwater, a friction that drags each of their gestures, a slow, deliberate heaviness in each of the alpha’s thrusts, shaking them powerfully while the gentle tides lull them. 

Underwater, there can be no tears cluttering the merman’s unfocused eyes, icy currents brushing strands of tousled ashen hair past his face, yet the Captain cannot stand to stare into those crimson irises. Cannot stand the hurt they carry, the pleasure, the pain, the helplessness as James fucks him senseless. Cannot bear the sight of the suffering omega, progressively shattering at each of his thrusts. The alpha must turn away, turn to anything but those pleading eyes. 

So James closes his eyes and focuses on the sloppy feel of Qrow’s lips on his as they meet in a brief, briny kiss. Blindly, he buries his face into the crook of Qrow’s neck, sensing the smoothness of wet skin against wet skin. The taste of blood in the water is enticing, too enticing as the Captain bites down, marking the omega, claiming Qrow as his own and barely caring, because all that matters is the details, amidst the surrounding silence. 

All that matters is the taste of the hybrid’s blood, sweet as an exotic fruit, heady as a summer wine. All that matters is the red, the droplets of bright red diffusing in weightless swirls around them, distracting James from the soft shade of russet eyes. All that matters is the peculiar texture of scales against the Captain’s skin as he slams into Qrow again and again - sleek and built for speed in one direction, rough and tingling as sandpaper in the other. James could drown in that sensation, in that silence, and that’s all that matters.

All that matters is the tightness of the omega’s slit clenching around James’s cock as Qrow comes again, saturating the water with the taste of his release. The shark tail quivers from side to side, its tremor slowing like a broken clock that’s unravelling, slowly unravelling…

Qrow isn’t sure how much time has passed. Qrow isn’t sure how they wash ashore, perhaps the tide has carried them there, the waves still slosh around them, seafoam still tickles his face as the ocean ebbs back and forth, and the winds are cold against his skin. Qrow isn’t sure of anything, except that the alpha is still furiously pounding into him, still rock hard and striking in short, sharp thrusts, each bringing him closer to shattering completely and surrendering to unconsciousness. Yet another orgasm is broken out of his overused body, his eyes rolling up as his mind blisses out for a few instants. 

Then gravity comes crashing down, alongside the crushing weight of James still mounting him with unbridled fervour. A broken sob is wrenched out of Qrow, but he’s too weak to shift back to his two-legged form, too weak to even move a finger, to even be anything but a puppet whose strings have been cut, a puppet for James to use and rearrange to his lustful liking. Soon the tide ebbs away, and merciful darkness begins to invade Qrow’s mind, blocking out the moon’s silvery glow.

James lets out a groan, brow furrowing as a faint stir shakes the body beneath him, tensed up by overstimulation. He just has time to roll over before the omega shifts again, body growing and stretching until he cuts a tall shadow before the moon, covered in jet black fur and towering high above the alpha’s head. A single swipe of that monster’s paw was powerful enough to blow a man’s head off, James recalls, and even his vampire strength is no match for that. A blood-curdling howl sears through the Captain’s eardrums, before the werewolf scampers away from the shore and toward the forest, toward its natural habitat. 

So the tales and rumours are true. James has heard of weres instinctively switching into their immensely more robust wolf forms even days away from a full moon when their bodies receive such punishment that shifting is life-saving, shifting is the only way to self-preservation. Growling and snarling, Qrow makes way through the trees, the alpha repressing a shiver as he attempts to maintain eye contact with the dangerous creature’s red gaze. Around the gigantic wolf, the trees seem small. The forest is small, the island is small, there is no place for two predators, and the village can’t possibly be that far away…

The alpha’s breath catches in his throat, momentarily distracted from the bloodlust flooding his mind by the sight of thick ebony fur receding again to reveal Qrow’s humanoid shape again - frail, bloodied, bruised, battered under the faint moonlight, too weak to even stand without leaning onto a nearby tree for support. Feeble fingers catch James’s wrist, drawing him toward the omega once more. Before he can even think, James’s lips are captured in a crying, trembling kiss, and a quivering hand reaches for his still pent up manhood, shakily aligning it with the hybrid’s entrance. 

The dim glimmer in vermillion eyes is apprehensive, but James knows all too well what it means. What Qrow wants, at the expense of his broken body and soul. Just how brave, how selfless he is, squirming helplessly as the alpha’s strong hands press his naked back into the tree’s rough bark to fuck him again. And as surely as the moon rises, as the moon falls, pulling the languid tide along, the alpha fucks Qrow again, again and again, never breaking the teary kiss as he milks every remaining drop of slick out of the omega’s body, soon riding into a sixth climax. Qrow’s mind drowns, Qrow’s mind soars, it’s too much and suddenly it’s nothing at all, unconsciousness finally claiming him as softly as a lulling tide.

James can pinpoint the exact moment at which the hybrid’s mouth turns lax and pliant against his lips, exhaling a last little gasp into the captain’s mouth. James can pinpoint the exact instant at which the omega’s hole finally loosens around his cock when Qrow passes out. James can pinpoint all that, yet he doesn’t slow down. Cannot slow down, must not slow down until all of the lust and bloodlust in him are completely spent. 

Instead, James pulls away from the kiss, relishing in the stunning sight of beautiful red eyes rolling all the way back in their orbits before heavy eyelids flutter closed. The alpha’s hand travels up to tenderly cup Qrow’s cheek as the lithe body pitches forward, bonelessly slumping against the Captain’s broad chest. Pinning the fainted form against the tree’s trunk, James marvels at the way the omega’s head still lolls and bobs in response to each rapid thrust even though he’s out cold, soft feathery hair tickling the crook of the alpha’s neck. But the limp body can’t stay in place, can’t stay standing, long arms and legs hang uselessly while James remains too hard, too close, too impossibly close to his own breaking point. 

Using his superhuman speed in utilitarian purposes, the Captain delicately props Qrow down against the tree and dashes off to grasp a discarded belt with which he binds the omega’s hands to a low-hanging tree branch, keeping him in an upright position James can finally finish fucking him. Thankfully, as he parts the pliant butt cheeks and molds them perfectly to his liking, it doesn’t take long for the alpha to finally find his release with a triumphant growl, fireworks flashing before his shut eyelids as he simultaneously forces a last orgasm out of Qrow’s insensate body. 

The bliss is everything, overtaking the world and the starry sky, each nerve ending, each pore of the newly turned vampire’s skin saturated with pure pleasure, precise and perfect to his heightened senses. Then he blinks, and the world blinks back into existence. 

The Captain is entirely, utterly spent, more so than he has ever been in his human or vampire existence. His breathing is slow, laboured as he scans his surroundings, bursting with suddenly different colours under the fading moonlight. He is still keenly aware of the tightness of Qrow’s walls around his cock, locking them together until his knot progressively deflates. His stomach sinks as he unties Qrow’s body, inspecting the splattering of cum and blood and saltwater across expanses of alabaster skin. The omega whimpers in his embrace, but does not rouse, the silence heavy within the forest’s eerie resonance. How much he hurt, overused, abused the unfortunate hybrid while driven by the brutal instincts of his rut, he cannot even begin to fathom. 

A tear rolls down Qrow’s cheek, clear, perfect, iridescent, and James raises a gentle thumb to wipe it. Until he notices the soft gold that dapples the translucent droplet, and turns toward the beach to see the early morning lights filtering through the trees, already slightly stinging his vampire eyes.

Somewhere, in the distance, the sun is rising.

* * *

Wandering precipitantly through the woods, James stumbles upon the entrance to a cave, leading to an underground network of stony tunnels into which the ocean comes to crash, probably having carved the passages throughout time. The cave is desert, but soon enough the Captain finds heaps of blankets somehow interspersed with metal trinkets. Some kind of nest, complete with a collection of shiny things. 

The Captain deduces this must be a refuge the male Twin arranged for himself, away from the burning sunlight. As gently as possible, he lowers Qrow into the nest, careful not to hurt the still slumbering omega. Vampires heal fast, or at least their skins do, but James knows how long it takes for scars of the mind to finally seal closed, if they ever do. 

A small smile graces James’s features when a soft snore escapes the hybrid’s curled up form, followed by the sound of even breathing. Qrow needs rest, and given how spent the captain feels, he should find another nearby cave to curl up in and sleep too. 

* * *

When he next wakes, the Captain can sense the change. With his hypersensitive senses, he can smell the pheromones saturating the humid air as Qrow’s scent spikes even a cave apart. He can hear the omega thrashing in his nest, sweating and whining, whining in slurred, nearly incomprehensible syllables that still fill James’s soul with dread. 

“Alpha…”

Qrow can sense James’s scent, his body responding eagerly. The events of the past night, having left wrecked, ravaged, broken, have triggered a violent hormonal reaction, and James knows full well the consequences. 

Qrow’s heat has started. 

* * *

Minutes, hours, days that pass are agony, too slow agony. 

Qrow is feverish and delirious, overheating in his nest as he frantically touches himself. Every nerve of James’s body sings painfully, drawing him instinctively, inexorably to the omega in heat. But he cannot give in, not again, not when the hybrid is so vulnerable and able to bear pups. He can not, must not, will not allow himself to hurt Qrow again, or even touch him again when Qrow doesn’t have a choice, when Qrow cannot refuse without lives being at stake. Not when the vivid flashbacks of the throes of his rut are still fresh in the Captain’s memories, haunting each and every of his nightmares. 

James forcibly tied a belt to his valid ankle, anchoring himself to stalagmites on the cave floor to keep himself from following his pulsions, tormenting him at each of the hybrid’s needy whines. But even so the alpha fears himself, his greatest foe, and even so he almost feels the pain the omega, his omega must endure, with no one to help him satisfy his needs. The belts bite the skin at his ankles, and clenching his fists until his nails leave crescent marks on his palms, he focuses on the pain, the here, the now, trying his best to ignore Qrow’s heart-wrenching screams. 

Until he cannot anymore. 

The Captain cannot ignore the omega, cannot ignore  _ his  _ omega. There must be something he can do. There must be. There must be…

He rips off a strip of his tattered shirt. This he can do. Briefly unshackling himself, he races through the cave system to the cool seawater and meticulously soaks the rag. This he can do. He closes his eyes, focusing on the cold sensation of rough, wet fabric between his hands, reeking of algae and sea water. Focusing on that, he walks toward the nest, hesitant step after hesitant step, blocking out the scent of irresistible pheromones as well as he possibly can. Focusing on that, he kneels by Qrow’s curled up form among the soft blankets. 

And carefully, very carefully, he dabs the sweat beading the hybrid’s brow with his makeshift compress, his gaze wandering around the cave and pointedly away from the omega’s naked, very naked body.

Somehow, he loses focus - perhaps a stroke of bad luck, as his glare somehow meets Qrow’s eyes, pupils so dilated they almost overtake the stunning shade of red irises. The omega’s stare brims with boundless gratitude, and even without a heartbeat the vampire alpha feels like the contents of his rib cage flutter away as freely as a flock of seagulls. 

But alongside gratitude, crimson eyes only bear a burning, hungry question, tracing the plump line of James’s vein across his powerful forearm. Nervously, the Captain nods, and just like that, Qrow’s fangs bite down as James offers his wrist, his veins, his blood. 

This could work. They could make it work. James could hunt after sundown for both of them, and they could make it work. This, they can do. 

* * *

Hours pass, days pass, a week passes, trickling minute by minute, second by second with a slow silence that’s rife with tension, barely muffled by trust. Trust, unspoken trust, unshakeable trust, carrying a hopeful promise like the first notes of a love song.

Then, the worst of Qrow’s heat subsides. He and James sit cross-legged in the nest, staring at the light that shines in the distance, shines like a dream, white as bone, white as a nightmare. 

“Can you recognise it?” Qrow wonders, idly resting his head against the alpha’s shoulder. 

James squints for several seconds, forcing his eyes to get accustomed to the sunlight outside the cave to distinguish contours. 

“The ship?”

“Aye.”

The hull is scarred, worn out, but built for speed, slicing through the waves with the grace of a bird taking flight. Proud masts stand tall, carrying motley, patched up sails. Buffeting among the playful clouds is a black pavilion marked with a familiar white emblem. At the rudder is a man wearing a pirate coat with ripped sleeves and a shiny silver medallion. 

**Author's Note:**

> There will be a second installment of this next week, and as you probably guessed it, Lucky IronQrow will be a thing ;)


End file.
